Fantastic Nightmare
by LauraScott
Summary: This is based on a dream I had. I was thinking about doing an entire series of stories based on my dreams, please comment and let me know if you'd be interested in me publishing more of my dream journal stories. Fair warning my dreams are very graphic and depict ghoulish homoerotic behavior. Any resemblance to people alive or dead is purely coincidental and non intentional.


**One Direction : Pussy Fire**

It was their day off but the boys of One Direction were hard working music professionals so they were in the studio anyway. They were working so hard on their latest album "Lazily Written Puerile Bullshit" or as they insufferably referred to it L.W.P.B dubs.

Niall Horan sat in one corner texting with one hand while he fingered the glistening open orifice of a cheaply made tin flask, filled with even more cheaply made whisky, because he's Irish. Zayn Malik Sat opposite Niall sucking down the fire poker red ash of his filterless cigarette so that the sweet smell of charring lip flesh began to waft into his nostrils.

Zayn knew he was a bad boy and needed to be punished for his impure thoughts about his fellow bandmates. The only problem was that to punish himself properly he would need to bury himself in loose stones, not impossible alone but he would need someone to cover his living grave with a good sized wall in order to have been punished properly. The thought of being buried alive made Zayns asshole twitch with the black guilt of knowing every sexual impulse you have is a sin against nature.

As Zayn watched Niall finger the flask, dewy whisky wetness began to form on Nialls finger and Zayn could barely stand it he wanted Nialls whole hand inside his ass, flask and all. His rectum contracted in a violent spasm that made him jizz a sandy brown Middle Eastern load in his gray skinny jeans.

The murky jissum crept like slow motion footage of a forest mudslide over the course black scrub brush of his hirsute taint. As the gritty mucilage pooled at edge of his shit ejector, a bodily orifice made so craterous by his repeated and violent attempts to insert oddly shaped foreign objects deep into its fissured and fistulated reaches as to barely be able to be called and anus any longer. His face remained a vacant unshaven ruin of wasted youth lightening only for the briefest of moments when his granulated man sauce made moist contact with the hardened rim of scar tissue that ringed his unnamable orifice.

Liam Payne reclined clipboard in hand drumming vacantly on the leather couch arm with his pen. He mouthed the lyrics of a song he was writing quietly to himself unaware of his bandmates and the grotesque pulsating of Zayns sexual tension.

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson sat Indian style on the dark carpeting of the sound booth playing cats cradle with an old length of twine stolen from a gypsies fortune telling tent just three days before.

It was then in that moment when songs were being written, flasks were being fingered, and pants were being jizzed. That the door of the studio was being opened and in stepped the painted bobble head Perrie Edwards, her eyes peered out through slits in the stratified layers of makeup that was now more like a mask of cheap whale oil and desiccated otter placenta than skin. Her gaze lighted on the face of her husband (Zayn). His cock immediately went soft as angel food cake and slid up into the hollow of his oil rich desert dweller pubes, his dick entirely reversing itself like a scared turtle at the sight of his painted beard.

Perrie dislocated her jaw and began screeching a sub audible noise that only some breeds of bat and her unlucky betrothed could make any sense out of. The other band members clasped the sides of their heads tightly groping to cover their ears or just trying to crush their own skulls, it was hard to tell. Zayn sat calmly in that moment; for to show weakness now would mean his death. Then as suddenly as it had begun it stopped and Perries jaw snapped itself sickeningly back into place. The boys lay harrowed by the experience, blood drained in thin rivulets from every orifice the boys had. Zayn stood a wet slosh of blood and cum matted his werewolf like ass hair to his bear like leg fur. He announced in a forceful tone

"My wife has crabs!"

The other band members looked on in horror still dazed but able to imagine the nightmarish creatures it would take to call that blonde paper mache dumpster fire their home.

"There is only one thing to do. We have to shrink down to microscopic size and fight them in brutal hand to hand combat for control of my wife's vage." Zayn said holding his fist a loft in a sign of solidarity.

The rest of the band gazed at one another with a collective look of fear. Harry began sobbing uncontrollably.

An hour later the boys stood before the shrink ray. They were decked out in everything they would need to survive a trip to Perries vulva, each was equipped with a semi-automatic machine gun, a flamethrower with extra fuel, and enough rations to survive for a month on the alien reaches of her baby slit. Also a freshly charged phone just in case they get separated, because as president Lyndon baines Johnson used to say no man can live on pussy alone.

Jan Benes Stood at the ready to shrink the boys and insert them into the brutal environs of Perries twat forest.

"Boys, I'm going to place you just on the edge of her snatch weeds. I'll try to get you as close to the mons pubis as I dare but you should be careful when entering into her fanny grass. The crabs are pube dwellers and they'll use that to their advantage keep an eye toward the sky and Godspeed. Oh! And for Gods sake make sure you get all the eggs. We don't want to be back here in a months time"

Benes saluted and hit play on his 'I love America!' mixtape, the national anthem began to sound in the laboratory. The boys saluted back, He hit the button and they shrank.

Benes was as good as his word. The boys exited the capsule not a click from the rough twisting branches of Perries towering fuck follicles. The mons pubis rose in front of them a vast prominence of weather beaten cracked skin that had been scraped raw by repeated hot waxing.

Liam swung his AK back and forth his eyes filled with ignorant terror.

"Calm down dipshit," Zayn said "The little fuckers are pube dwellers. We have a good long hike before we need to worry." Then he shoved Liam to the ground.

It was the kind of casual bullying they'd come to expect from Zayn. Zayn only bothered because inflicting physical harm on his bandmates was the only way he could touch their supple young bodies without arousing suspicion. Even now his cock curved into a chickens claw of hornines in the uncomfortable gray onesie they all had to wear as part of the shrinking process.

Liam tried to stand but slipped on the crusted over scar of an ingrown hair and fell onto his gun. The echo of cold steel filled the air. The safety had been off and the moron shot himself right in the gut.

The stench of shit filled the air and Liam mewled like the goat Zayn had secretly fucked as a child. As Liam bleed out on the unforgiving barren wasteland of Perries twat Zayn looked toward the distant prominence and said.

"Fives too many God damned members for a boy band anyway."

The others cowered behind him, Niall took a swig from his flask and made a small declaration under his breath.

"God."

"There's no God here. Now lets move out. Liam, Louis, grab the gear. Niall cover us with the flamethrower. Now Let's move! We've got miles of meat curtain to cover."

The stench of human sweat and musk intensified as they drew nearer the undergrowth. It was a preternaturally still place, save for the occasional rough shift from deep within -the rustle of their quarry. Oil covered the follicles and they glistened under the pilot light from Nialls flamethrower.

A queef wind brought down the stench of fresh blood from the nearby prominence of Perries labia majora.

Niall swayed and vomited.

"God she's on her period."

"Crist man suck it up. Like you've never licked crusted blood off the rim of a girls twat." Zayn taunted.

Of course Zayn knew Niall, like all the boys, hadn't been this close to a womans fuck lesion since they were ripped screaming out of their mothers cesarean scar.

They'd walked for a good hour before they found the first nest. It was laid in the crook of an old growth grey hair. Most of the eggs had broken open already but a few still remained, twitched with subhuman life.

Zayn crushed them with a few well placed stomps, imagining they were his wifes head. Thick milky fluid soaked his boots, God Damn it! Zayns cock slammed against the inside of his onesie grating it's uncircumcised head into the course polyester. Louis and Harry cringed at the foul odor of the unborn maggots. He needed to release this tension, to clear his head and be a good leader, to get them out of this.

"Let's split up. Harry you're with me. Louis go with Niall. scope out the surrounding muff fuzz and destroy anything you find."

They gave conciliatory nods and split off.

Harry was really the best choice. He resembled a woman in the ways that Zayn needed in order to justify his longing. His thin delicate frame, his flinty voice, but most of all his lustrous shoulder length hair. The kind of hair a fuck freak like Zayn could cum in for days. He'd dreamed so many times of shooting a hot load into Harrys eyes, supergluing the boys eyelashes together with frothy baby batter.

As soon as they were a decent distance from the others Zayn pulled a steel bowie knife from its holster and grabbed the back of Harrys onesie. A quick slash up the back of the fabric split a hole wide enough to reveal Harrys hairless pasty white northern european ass. His name was complete irony as there wasn't a hair anywhere but his head. This would be easier than Zayn had imagined. His dick pulsed with such furness like heat that for a second he thought he'd burn right through the onesie and brand Harrys malnourished english ass with a red rocket shaped scar of his perfect cock.

"God dude what the fuck." was all Harry could get out before Zayn had him bent over the nearest genital wart. He didn't even sound mad just surprised it had taken this long.

Zayn slashed open his own onesie then, revealing a Robin Williams esque body suit of hair. Zayns cock was a ten inch bestial rod of hardened blood vessels more suited to a satyr than a man. He drew back the foreskin, shook loose a few clumps of smegma and took a swipe at one of the nearby follicles. His hand came away slick with sweat and oil. He gripped the base of his elephentine dick and smeared it with his wifes effluence. Harry stood braced against the abnormal skin growth, not even trying to run.

He was a creature beneath contempt for Zayn. But still he did Harry the kindness of wetting the boys delicate feminine butt hole with the icor of his wifes microbiome. Then Zayn dove deep, deaf to the screams and howls of pain his bandmate made as Zayn demolished the retaining walls of muscle that allow Harry to keep his ass closed at fancy dinner parties.

It could have been hours Zayn would have had no idea. He fucked until the screams stopped, until he'd came a half dozen times, until Harry was little more than a rag doll of whimpering barely human flesh. Then he pulled free and brought about seven inches of destined and bruised colon out with his dick. Harry collapsed next to the wart, Zayns cock had been all that was supporting him for the last fifty minutes. Zayn was spent. Finally his head was clear, his demons had abated, for a time.

He lit a cigarette and drew in a breath of warm smoke. For a moment he just listened and heard nothing aside from Harry sobbing, then over that off in the direction of clitoral hood he heard shouting and the soft pop of gunfire. Shit.

The first thing Zayn saw when he broke through the undergrowth of curled cunt crabgrass was Nialls headless body. It lay a few feet from his flamethrower in the middle of a dry bald spot about sixty feet from the hood. It didn't hold his attention long on the opposite side of the bald spot Louis sparred in close quarters with a tank of an insect.

The crab was easily twice their size, its body was wide and clear enough so it was possible to see its internal organs squeezing and roiling like the inhabitants of some alien fishtank. A dark fluid passed from one organ to the next in a revolting game of hot potato, it was digesting the blood meal it had drained from Nialls decapitated body. All while it hung like tarzan from a distended hair swiping down with a free claw and nearly taking Louis head off, like it had undoubtedly done to Niall.

Despite being naked Zayn retained his cool and ran for the thrower. When he hefted it he noticed that the pilot light had gone out. Louis shouted to him and fired another twenty rounds into the beast but its armor was too thick and the bullets ricochet off in all directions. He sparked it trying to get it lit but it just wouldn't go.

The crab rached down like God to Adam and with a flick of its claw snipped Louis arms off at the elbow. The AK fell with his useless forearms still attached. Louis fell to his knees in shock, gouts of blood shooting up onto the things carapace painting it Jackson Pollock red. The scent of blood and kerosene floated on the queef wind and Zayn loosed a pleading cry of Nooooooo into the heart of darkness.

The thrower lit just as the crab rammed its thorny proboscis down into Louis screaming mouth. His internal organs were a purple soup that the crab drank with zen gluttony reserved only for ravenous insects and Rush Limbaugh. Zayn pointed the thrower up into its impassive face and soaked the bastard in fire.

It heated up so quickly The crabs eyes exploded and its carapace ruptured spewing half cooked viscera and Louis fresh blood down onto Zayn the bald spot bellow. The hair burned and in the flicking light Zayn raged and screamed, a primal scream, a bellow that few men ever knew. He swung the flamethrower in all directions. The oil made the tufts of twat fur burn like gasoline soaked rags thrown through the broken window of an abandoned gas station.

Zayn ran then. He ran until his legs couldn't carry him any further till his lungs burned with the acrid taste of singed hair and it hurt to live. He thought he could have saved them, even fucked them all in time, but here now on the edge of a flaming vagina Zayn knew the truth, he'd outgrown the band a long time ago. It was time to think about a solo career.


End file.
